The Ravaged World (Book 2 of the Exiles Series)

Nine: Magnus

The whole rest of that night I spend researching the rebellion. I search the internet via my telescreen and find oodles of websites based on it--including several created right here in the capital city, which surprises me. I click on a few links and scroll through pages, ingesting as much information as possible. Most of the sites I find are very choppy and messy. But a few I find are well organized and give a lot of information. These are the ones that I linger on, saving keepers onto my bookmarked tab and avoiding others. Before I finally go to bed, at almost three a.m., I delete my internet history, in case Avalon or Ari should decide to do some snooping, and I shut off my device. Then, I go to sleep.

I research in secret for a few days. Those days turn into weeks. My life is extremely hectic in that time, filled with paparazzi, interviews, meetings, studying dumb things that no one cares about (Silver's history, past presidents, etc.), and trying to keep my distance from Avalon, even though our paths cross daily. I socialize with Arina as much as possible, trying to catch up after being so distant for so long. Reporters and mobs of hopeful civilians stalk my every move, including things that no one should care about. As much as these people annoyed me, I was gradually starting to get used to their almost constant presence.

It is a few weeks later that I finally hear from Max again. I check my email one day and discover a message in there. The message reads: 

Magnus-- We're having a meeting this week on Thursday. I'm not trying to get you to come, because it seems impossible, given your position, but I want to know if there's some way I can somehow get your opinions without you being there. Can you email me? --Max.

I quickly type in a response, something like, I'm all for it, but what are you suggesting? And then I log off to silence. I crawl into bed, exhausted, and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Apparently I'm supposed to give a speech in the morning, because at 6 a.m. I wake up to Avalon shaking me. "We're leaving in an hour," she says simply, once my eyes open. "Put on something nice and I'll give you the speech to practice."

The darkness outside is torture while I get ready, reminding me that I'm running on three hours of sleep for the day. I head straight into my bathroom and take an ice cold shower to try to wake up, then dress quickly. My philosophy is that if I stop moving, I'll feel tired, but if I keep pushing through I'll be fine.

Once I'm dressed I head downstairs and find Avalon waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She silently hands me a stack of notecards, filled with words written in a script so immaculate that there's no way Avalon didn't write it. While I eat breakfast I read through the notecards. I find out that the speech is like my introduction to the world--basically saying that I plan to solve the pollution problems and restore the country to its former glory, yada yada yada. You know, back when it was still America, that is. I notice that there's nothing in here about the rebels or the thousands, maybe millions of people suffering in poverty, like what the meeting that took place almost a month ago was focused on, the people who get less than nothing. Including no acknowledgement.

. . .

Half an hour later I'm cruising through the rough streets of Silver, passing boarded up shops covered in graffiti and lost looking people huddled in alleyways.

Sometime while we're driving it begins to rain. Joy. I guess I'll be giving a speech in the rain, besides being sleep deprived. Why am I doing this again?

Arina gives me one of those sad smiles that have become her trademark lately. A piece of bright fabric peeks out from under her dark coat. She looks nice, but strangely she also looks tired, and I wonder if she can't sleep anymore, either.

"You okay?" I ask. The rain drips onto the sunroof of the sleek black car that we cruise in, making the sky blurry.

Arina purses her lips and nods. "I'm fine," she says, "I just...didn't anticipate going to a speech thing at six in the morning. Not that it's your fault, of course," she adds quickly, like it hurts me. It's not like I want to be here either.